


Pet

by Spinning_In_Infinity



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: AFAB!reader, BDSM, F/M, Master/Slave Dynamic, Pet Play, collar and leash, disobedience punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28053285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_In_Infinity/pseuds/Spinning_In_Infinity
Summary: In which Brahms discovers BDSM, and deals with a disobedient S/O.
Relationships: Brahms Heelshire/Reader, Brahms Heelshire/You
Kudos: 54





	Pet

While Brahms might not have been overly familiar with BDSM, once you’d explained the concept to him, he was like a kid at Christmas. For someone as self-centred and spoiled as him, the idea that you actually _wanted_ him to use you like a toy couldn’t have been more enthralling. You explained the limitations, what things he could and couldn’t do, and you hoped he listened.

It starts small. One day, when you are reading alone in the library, he approaches you with something in his hands, dropping it at your feet. It’s a black leather collar, attached to a leash. You remember a conversation you shared about the dog Mr. Heelshire had once owned – Brahms would never divulge exactly how the dog’s presence in the house had come to an end – and guess it had once belonged to her.

“Put it on,” he demands. He uses his child’s voice, which sends a shiver down your spine, but you can tell by the glint in his eye that now’s not the time to quibble. Setting down your book with trembling hands, you pick up the collar and fasten it around your neck. Thankfully, it was a good fit.

“We’re going for a walk,” Brahms announces, the loop at the end of the leash wrapped tightly around his fist.

“Okay,” you nod, and he gives the lead a sharp tug, causing you to stumble from the chair.

“Pets don’t talk,” he growls. “Do they?”

You shake your head, gazing up at him with wide, hopefully inoffensive, eyes. He gives the lead a gentler pull, and you follow him meekly from the room. He takes you downstairs and out into the extensive back yard of the Heelshire estate. When he thinks you’re not walking fast enough, he jerks the lead and you trot a little faster to catch up.

~

This becomes a semi-regular occurrence in your week. For the most part, you’re Brahms’s caregiver – cooking for him, cleaning the mansion as best you can, kissing him goodnight at the end of the day; but the moment he comes up to you with that lead in his hands, you know the tables are about to turn.

One day, things change.

It’s a sunny day in mid-August, the heat thick and syrupy against your skin. Brahms has removed his cardigan, tying it about his waist, and looks critically at you.

“Take them off,” he commands, gesturing to your clothes. You shimmy out of your denim shorts and drop them to the grass, but pause before taking off your shirt. You touch the lead, indicating you need it removed in order to comply with his instructions. He unclips it from the collar and watches intently as you strip down to your underwear. As he moves to reattach your lead, a sudden mischievous whim comes over you, and you step sharply to the side. His eyes narrow behind his mask.

“Come here.”

You shake your head, taking another step. You know this is risky – dangerous, even – but you want to see what he’ll do. He takes one angry step closer and that’s when you bolt, your stomach sparkling with exhilaration. You sprint across the sweeping lawn, relishing the movement of air on your skin, through your hair.

“GET BACK HERE,” Brahms’s furious voice rages after you, and you slow enough to turn and watch him stalk towards you. The rebellious surge leaves you and you drop like a stone to your knees. You can see his fists clenching, his chest heaving with barely supressed rage. For a moment, you wonder if he’s going to hit you – if he’ll obey the rules you set down for him.

He doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t do anything. His gaze turns icy cold, and he drops the lead to the ground by your hands. You hasten to reattach it to your collar, but he simply walks past you, back towards the house. The game is over.

Cursing yourself for pushing the limits too far, you watch him leave, waiting for him to call you. He doesn’t. You wait until he’s disappeared inside the house before getting to your feet, the lead clutched in your hands, feeling foolish and reckless.

Once you realise he has retreated to his sanctum, you sit in silence for a long time on your bed. You leave the lead on the bedside table but leave the collar on. You don’t know if he’s watching you now, but you need him to know that, while he may have quit the game, you’re still playing.

~

It’s been ten whole hours since the garden – the longest you’ve noted his absence since he first crawled out from the shadows. You announce to the empty halls that you’re going to bed just before midnight, but there’s no response. Heart heavy, you ready yourself for sleep and curl into a ball under the blankets, the empty space beside you feeling uncomfortably vast. You don’t know how long it takes you to fall asleep. It’s been so long since you lay in this bed alone, without Brahms’s steady breathing beside you to lull you into dreams.

What may have been hours but feels like a blink of time, you open your eyes to the heavy weight of hands on your wrists.

“Brahms?”

“Quiet.”

His voice is deep, authoritative. You fall silent, the apology bursting to break from you trembling on your tongue.

“Turn over.”

You roll over onto your front and rise to your hands and knees. The amount of trust it takes for you to bare your back to such a man doesn’t go unnoticed by Brahms, but your punishment isn’t over yet. He pulls down your pyjama pants, rubbing long fingers down to your moist pussy and dipping the tip of his thumb inside. The next thing you feel is a hand on the back of your head, forcing your face down into the pillow.

“Don’t move.”

You bite into the cotton fabric under your cheek as he pushes himself inside you, one hand tugging under your hips to draw you closer. He starts up a merciless rhythm almost immediately, the slap of skin on skin loud in the dark room.

“Nnng … Brahms …”

“I said quiet!” he nearly shouts and you press your lips shut. You feel every single stroke of him inside you, your walls swollen with arousal, your heart fluttering with relief at his attentions. You move your hand to touch yourself, but his sharp eyes catch your movement and he quickly pins your wrist to the mattress.

“No. You don’t get that.”

_Oh God_. You whimper as he quickens, your ass stinging as his hips hit it. You can feel the pleasure stirring in your lower belly, that white heat igniting from the repeated assault on your G-spot, but it’s not enough. Not tonight.

“You’re mine,” Brahms says, voice breathless. “You do what I say.”

“Yes,” you whisper, forgetting yourself. He gives your head another shove, fingers lingering around the back of your neck, keeping you in your place.

“You don’t ignore me,” he growls. “You obey me.”

You nod, knowing he can feel the movement.

“You’re my pet. My toy. No-one else’s.”

You know he can’t last long; he’s too riled up, his thrusts too intense. You whine as you feel your pleasure rising, slowly, not fast enough to chase his. His whole body jerks and you feel his warm cum inside you, his cock pulsating as he pumps you full. He slips out quickly, the faint glow of your orgasm fading into the darkness again. So, this is how you’re punished.

He brushes your hair from your face and stares into your eyes, the white of his mask reflecting the silver light of the moon through the window.

“I’ll be good,” you whisper, and he doesn’t reprimand you for speaking.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr account august-bleeds-red.


End file.
